


Are you asleep, are you dreaming

by Virgilia (TrollKastell)



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, I just can't with these two, Just love in general tbh, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Romance, maybe angst?, otp, surprise surprise I'm still alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrollKastell/pseuds/Virgilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of vignettes of our two favourite boys.<br/>Some are set in the canon, others are set in alternate universes, but it's the same love that draws us in again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'M NOT DEAD jfc. I just took a really long break from writing because I wanted to find myself for a bit. Anyway, to all those who want a chapter of Fluttering Away, I'll be able to type out a chapter as soon as this week, I think. 
> 
> This is actually just a bunch of ficlets (vignettes, if you're of fancy vocabulary) that I've strung together (loosely) in my head about Arthur and Merlin. Honestly someone should just marry those two.

There was a hazy quiet that hugged the castle that morning. Uther still hadn’t woken up, bless heaven for the little things, Arthur was also the same. Gaius was up, though he was busy doing something with his bit’snbobs, muttering about getting something done and not being lazy like the young ones of today. Gwen was still asleep, sucking up as much rest as she could before plunging into the fray of making and repairing dresses.

 

Which forced Merlin to do the one thing he loves and hates. As he stood next to one of the wide windows that let in the eastern sun when it rose, he sat down on the windowsill while letting the pale rosy light hit him and went on with what he was forced-wanted to do.

 

 

Honestly, he didn’t hate it. He loved thinking about his thoughts, about how Kilgharrah was annoying but wise, always speaking in allegories and riddles that made him want to scratch his head before the answer revealed itself to him.  
Sometimes he would think to himself about actually retaliating at Kilgharrah with a witty comment here or there, but then he’d hear this wise and mildly smug voice in his head, saying “Merlin,” in a tone that would sound like a parent scolding a child.

  
Sometimes he would think of his mother, about how much he missed Hunith and her warm glow, the homecooked meals, the scratchy but cosy blankets that she sewed herself which lulled Merlin into the most wonderful dreams he thought of. He still remembers the lilting stillness when she would sing to Merlin tinkling lullabies, even when he was well past being a child.

 

He would think of his banter with Gwen, them relating together the struggles of being just teetering on the middle class people, with Gwen stitching and catching up with orders from Camelot and some even from beyond (her skills with a needle and thread were known well past the boundaries of Camelot,) and Merlin juggling his servant duties, going after Arthur’s antics and occasionally saving the day sometimes.  
He feels a sort of long-lostness in Gwen, as if she was a sister he’d parted from in his childhood.

 

Or perhaps his thoughts would drift to Gaius, where his mind would flow like the same way as with Kilgharrah’s, but more earthy and grounded. Where Kilgharrah is cryptic and veiled, Gaius was practical and down-to-earth. Often Merlin would have to suppress a giggle when he would be almost caught by his mentor performing magic.

 

Lately though, his thoughts’ve been drifting towards Arthur. The prince was spoiled and mean and just downright annoying, but when he tries to summon the anger and irritation he should feel, it doesn’t come. Oh yes, the blunt and crudeness of the prince chafes against Merlin’s mind, but the anger and irritation aren’t there.

If Merlin had to describe the feeling, it would be like when a kitten scratches your favourite pair of trousers. Chafing, but those blue eyes just pull you in and that warm yellow fur begs for forgiveness-

  
Which, what.

 

He could hear his mum now, as if he was back home and washing the dishes after breakfast. His mother would spot him just not brushing the plates as fast as he usually does and she raises one eye just as Merlin looks at her and says, _pining after that boy again my dear?_

 

Of course he wasn’t.

 

He wouldn’t just look that _bit_ longer at Arthur when Merlin was polishing armor and he saw how sweat would drip from the back of his golden hair.  
  
He wouldn’t _just_ lingerthat bit longer whenever Arthur would dismiss him and Merlin would linger at the door, waiting for something, something he didn’t know what exactly.  
  
He wouldn’t.

Problem was, he was.

  
Now he can see his mother letting down her eyebrow, casually returning to whatever chore she was doing before she was teasing Merlin, quietly muttering _‘bout time you realized for yourself, dear._

 

He wanted to smack himself, his mum and Arthur honestly.

 

…..and there it goes again.

 

It really didn’t bother him honestly, being attracted to a man. What bothered him was being attracted to the _man._ The man who would be king. The man who would inherit Camelot, who would rule people better than his father did (this one Merlin knows will happen,) who would need heirs should he feel the same for Merlin.  
  
And then there’s the fact that he might not like Merlin that way Merlin likes Arthur. Heavens, that was the one thought that scraped at the back of Merlin’s mind. Not the magic he had to hide from Uther and Arthur and everyone else, not the fact that he was conversing with a dragon below the castle wall and might be executed on suspicion of practicing magic, not the fact that Uther would personally gut him should he know about Merlin’s secret, but the fact that Arthur might not like him back.

 

He was desperate for release, for catharsis from this. He wanted nothing more than to just go back home to Hunith and just pass every day wondering what should the till next, should they keep bees for extra gold, those little farm things.

 

Except he knew that Arthur would come to his house, with armor and steed (maybe even several men also) in tow, requesting requisition of Merlin as his servant.

 

He wouldn’t put it past his mum to actually comply because _my son pines over you so much, please treat him well_.

 

…He really should stop thinking.

 

Begrudgingly, he pulled himself off from his daydream and slid off the windowsill. It was then that he heard something which flooded even more daydreams into his head.

 

“Merlin, where have you been?!”

 

Arthur was storming at him, in nothing but the same red shirt* and tan trousers that he always wore on his lazy days. Merlin was standing his ground, familiar with the _where-have-you-been-I-need-my-breakfast_ stare the Sire was known for before he had his fill.

 

“Everyone else was still asleep,” Merlin said with a shrug.

 

“Well now that everyone’s awake, go get me some breakfast.”

 

Merlin sighed, well-used to this annoying but opalescent banter that was part of his morning routine. As he moved towards the kitchen, he felt a hand grab at his wrist.

  
  
“Merlin?”

Merlin face Arthur, whose expression was one he couldn’t read. Relief? Happiness? Arthur’s eyes swam around, searching for words that were a tenth to what he was feeling.

“Yes sire?”

 

Arthur was quiet. He was quiet when he let go of Merlin’s hands, he was quiet as he stepped back. Eventually, his face broke into a smile Merlin hadn’t seen on his face before.  
  
It was timid, very soft. A dewdrop falling from the leaves of a tree as the morning rose.

 

Arthur eventually said, “Run along Merlin, I just wanted to see how much your face was annoying,” though his face was still soft, unguarded.

 

Merlin would never let Arthur live down that Arthur meant “annoying beautiful” that day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Arthur is a lost prince who Ygraine stole from Uther and lived with Morgana as peasants.
> 
> Also, pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY KNOW WHAT ARTHUR WEARS!!!!  
> a fucking tunic jfc i'm so stupid

“Merlin,” Hunith mentioned, trying to suppress her lightheartedness in her voice, “that blond boy is ploughing his sister’s fields again.”

 

Merlin almost dropped the dishes ( _again,_ his mother thought,) rushing towards the window of their quaint cottage.

 

_He’s gorgeous as always,_ Merlin thought. _He must be acting real pratty today then._

 

Arthur was tilling the small field that he and his sister owned. His arms clenched every time he dug the hoe into the ground, pulling out the weeds and shifting the soil for their crops. His hair was already matted with sweat, despite it being only just an hour after sunrise. Merlin was sure though, that he didn’t even bother with the hoe’s weight, lifting it as it were as easy as lifting a well-balanced sword. Whenever he turned to check on something, Merlin saw that his tunic* was already drenched in perspiration near the small of his back and his neck, making warmth flood the back of his own neck.  
  
“Careful there,” Hunith called as she checked their produce, rationing what to sell and what to keep for the winter, “get any redder on those ears and I might’ve to pluck them to add to our tomatoes.”

 

Merlin loved his mum, he really did. When his pa vanished (Hunith always said he was called by that king for an important mission, but she gets teary at this so Merlin never asks,) she was the one who got him through his first winter back when he was naught but a wee child. She was the one who held him close whenever he came home whenever the other kids teased him about mean things, things his mother doesn’t ever want him to say to another person. She was the one who, when Merlin told her that he prefers the company of men, started hunting for gossip on which prince was the most eligible for her only gem.

 

He really did love his mum. Only that she can be more infuriating than a bee sting on a chilly winter’s eve.

 

“MUM!” Merlin covered his cherry-red ears, the blush extending to his face.  
  
“Aw, don’t be like that dear. You’d make good coin with how big of a tomato your head is,” she added, playfully shaking his hair.

 

Merlin swatted her hand away, and went back to staring at his neighbor. He was slowly going back to his own cottage, where his sister and mother, Morgana and Ygraine respectively, was washing the laundry, lightly teasing about how much laundry she has to do now that Arthur’s drenched his tunic.  
  
Nobody actually knows where they came from. One day their mother Ygraine just came into a cottage that was abandoned, which just happened to be the cottage next to Hunith and Merlin’s. She seemed as if she was on the run from something. The first night she was there, Hunith scared her when she brought a bit of what she could spare to her. Since then she raised Arthur and Morgana all by herself, with the occasional nudge and boost from Hunith which she appreciated, to the point where both families knew each other on a first-name basis. Merlin was more chatty with Morgana than with Arthur though, the former bonding over their love and knowledge over nature and the latter spending his time in the company of knights and pages.

 

(There were rumours that the family was actually a splinter family when the other kingdom’s ruler, Uther, slept with Ygraine more times than his legal wife. Fearing the scandal and danger this might cause to her children, Ygraine fled Camelot into the neighboring country of Essetir. Hunith herself would defend Ygraine from these rumours, saying that people who had the time to gossip badly about people should just tell her which prince should marry her son. She had her sights set on the Spanish prince.)

 

He sighed. Neighbors are…weird.

 

 

The day before Mass, Merlin and his mum went to the market to sell their goods. Usually this means a treat with some extra bread and cheese that night.

 

Everyone knew how notoriously good Hunith’s apple pies were. Even knights from the adjoining province, Camelot, would head over to Essetir’s market whenever they heard on the vine that Hunith was making more than usual for her batch of apple pies. People would clamor over their stall for the limited supply she had, and sometimes people would go on a bidding just to get a piece that looked bigger than the rest.

 

Merlin learned to ignore the occasional deal-making that would happen on the way to setting up their stall, holding up most of the stock while Hunith herself was holding one of the things she attributes her magical pies to: honey gathered by Merlin.

 

She’s been actually adding honey to her pies since as long as she can remember, but then one day she asked Merlin to gather the honey for her. He took out the several great jars she used to collect the honey from the forest just a way’s off Ealdor. He would trek out to the forest and before he would gather the honey, paired with a smoking bundle of leaves, he would sing.  
  
It wasn’t the typical male tenor sound one would expect. It was this eerie, haunting timbre his mother often called “magical.” He would go higher and higher than the choir during Mass, spinning a tune that quivered and silenced and entranced the listener. It made the glade feel like it was drenched in a spell that made the bees go from tense to placid, almost serene. He would sing as he spread the smoke into the beehive, collecting the honey from the combs, and he would sing until he would arrive home with several jars filled with sweet honey, as if he was scared that if he didn’t sing until he reached home, the magic sweetness would evaporate. 

Sometimes Merlin would worry, wondering if Arthur would hate him for sounding like one of those castrato. His mother would sense that anxiety and would say, “If he really likes you, he would accept your voice. Maybe he’d even beg for you to sing.”

 

Several hours, a fistfight that Hunith herself had to break up ( _those guard can’t ever do anything right,_ she mused,) an auction or two over a pie that looked like an inch or so thicker from the rest, she and Merlin were manning the slightly devoid stall now, most of their pies and other produce having been sold. Merlin’s honey was almost on par in selling as Hunith’s pies, but only so. Hunith was counting their coin, they managed to get them enough gold to get by the next few months or so, while still buying a bit of cheese and bread here and there, when she noticed someone going towards their stall.

 

“Psst, Merlin,” she nudged her son with her elbow, “someone’s looking for you I think.”

 

“Huh?” Merlin whizzed around, and when his eyes landed on the stranger, he was gaping.  
  


Standing in front of him was his neighbor Arthur. But usually at this time of day he’d be drenched in sweat from loaning out his hands to anyone who needed work done. Now, he was groomed, and Merlin was pretty sure that he spent a good coin on the baths, because _heavens_ did he smell divine. He was holding out a basket of potatoes on his hands which he gave to Hunith ( _she says thanks for the honey by the way, it made the bread taste so much better_ , he offers to her,) when he suddenly coughed into his fist and said,  
  
“Merlin, we’ve been friends for a long time,” he began, “so I was thinking-uhmthat we could-“  
  
“Yes?”

“That maybe you and your mother-“

“Yes?”

“You and your mother would like to-“  
  
“Ye _ee_ s?” now Merlin dragged out that last syllable, intent on making Arthur as uncomfortable as he could before-

 

“Merlin, stop being a prat and let Arthur finish what he wants to say,” Hunith said, ( _That, Merlin thought to himself,_ ) sparing a knowing glance towards Ygraine and Morgana at their own stall a few walks down the market, as if sharing on a big secret.

 

Merlin sighed, and returned to face Arthur, who was now a perfect shade of pink against his blond hair. He lowered his sarcasm and revealed his sincerity, his listening. “So, what d’you what?”

 

Arthur kept on scratching the back of his head, his hand moving to his back. Suddenly Merlin was overcome with color and scent, flowers were shoved into his face.  
  
  
“Uhm, uh…these are f-for you.” Arthur mumbled.  
  
  
Merlin had never seen Arthur this meek before. He had seen the teasing one, whenever Morgana had a new suitor which she scorned and Arthur would just mercilessly go on and on about how his sister is a wicked witch who destroy the hearts of men. He had seen the repentant one, when a small pack of potatoes was stolen and he was apologizing to his mother with teary eyes, only to be hugged and said _don’t worry love, we can make by_. He had seen the caring one, when Merlin himself accidentally tripped and Arthur brought him to Hunith, who thanked him many times about how Merlin was _clumsier than an old man, I swear he’s a thousand years older than me._

 

But this? Sincerity laced with anticipation and anxiety? It was almost like…  
  
  
“Arthur, are you asking me out to dinner?”

 

At this, Arthur turned from morning sky pink to beet red. He nodded a confirmation, to which Merlin shook his head, mumbled something about _adorable prat,_ and proceeded to ask if he and Hunith could come over for dinner.  
  
  
(Actually, he and Hunith go every so often to Ygraine’s cottage, and vice versa. It’s always a festive kind of mood, especially when Hunith is preparing a couple of pies to bring and Merlin is cleaning the best honey jars.)

 

Arthur was still pink when he wobbled back to his family’s flower-meets-crops-meets-preserves stall.

 

“Merlin dear?” Hunith had the most smug expression Merlin had ever seen on her face.  
  
“Yes mum?”

“You do know what just happened, right?”

He did. Arthur just asked him out.

Arthur just asked _him_ out.

Oh dear.

 

 

Let it be known that Merlin is not a panicky type of person.

Whenever Hunith felt like their winter stores were a tad bit too thin, Merlin would go into the woods, getting berries and his famous honey to either store or peddle for meats and bread. That one time when Morgana had a stalker by the name of Mordred of the likes, he and Arthur proceeded to have the best Hallow’s Eve they had. Whenever Ygraine complained of a sore back, he’d go ask Morgana what she thought was best and together get the herbs needed to help their mum stand up with pride.

 

So, when Hunith and Merlin arrived home that eve, Merlin definitely _was not_ washing his hair or asking his mother what tunic looked better with what trousers.

 

“Oh my darling,” his mum said, cupping his face so he got what she really meant, “you don’t have to dress opulence for Arthur. He’s just your friend. I bet even if you hadn’t bathed in days he’d still hug you.”

 

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t bathe?”

 

“No dear, definitely make yourself at least somewhat presentable.”

 

Half a quarter of a candle later, Merlin and Hunith were ready, with Merlin’s hair combed to decency and Hunith herself carrying pies to share with both families.

 

Ygraine’s house was only a bit of a walk away, so when Morgana opened the door with a knowing smile, Merlin felt that he _definitely_ didn’t have enough time to calm himself.

She led them to the cottage’s supper place, where Ygraine had just sat down and Arthur was finishing up in setting the table. She pulled the chair for Hunith, and kissed her cheek, and for Merlin she pinched his cheek and patted his rear. _Affectionate._

 

Hunith set down the pie just before the two families said grace, led by Ygraine. They dug in to their suppers, bread and cheese with a bit of rabbit that Arthur caught earlier that day. It was great.

 

But the drama came with the pie.  
  
  
Everyone all got a slice of the pie. The only problem was, there was an extra slice.  
  
“ _Mer_ lin.”

“Arthur.”

“You know, you did give us this pie. Might as well let me have the last slice, I’m a growing man.”

“Arthur. We’re you’re guests. It’s your job to be a good host and _let me have the last slice._ ”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“Arthur.”

 

That’s when Merlin noticed that the table became still and quiet. He looked around and noticed all three women looking dreamily at the two.  
  
“I wish I had a man who treated me like that,” Morgana sighed.

“Oh to be young Hunith,” Ygraine dreamily said.  
  
“Oh yes, Ygraine. Young love is really beautiful to see.” Hunith replied just as dreamily.

 

Merlin sighed to himself.

 

_This was a set-up._

 

Arthur held his hand, grinning at him while his mouth was full of apple pie.  
  
_But it’s oh so worth it,_ he thought while he kissed Arthur and stole a bit of pie still clinging to his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> *I have no idea what that thing Arthur wears on his casual days. I feel like the closest word I have is a shirt, so I'll stick with that.
> 
> Also, brownie points to those who can see what other fandom i've inserted here kek


End file.
